Swirls of Gold and Shards of Glass
by Som3on3
Summary: For as long as Vera can remember, the world was made out of swirls of gold and a kaleidoscope of colour. Then fate introduced her to a myriad of people throughout time and space. It's beautiful and wonderful until—"Sometimes all it takes is one breath, and the world will change." And everything shatters. Steve/OC/Bucky
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel**

 **Pairings: Bucky/OC/Steve  
** Steve/Bucky, Steve/OC. Bucky/OC **  
 _Note: This is a threesome. No love triangle._**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary:** _For as long as Vera can remember, the world was made out of swirls of gold and a kaleidoscope of colour. Then fate introduced her to a myriad of people throughout time and space. It's beautiful and wonderful until—"Sometimes all it takes is one breath, and the world will change." And everything shatters._

* * *

SWIRLS OF GOLD AND SHARDS OF GLASS

* * *

 _1925_

Veronica's face was in a solemn line as the mangled body was carelessly tossed away.

Her own body shook, tense in anticipation and anger. Soldiers with crests on their chests continued to march them down a deserted road, hands stiff on the gun. Everything was a monochrome grey, dashes of pale white and prominent black. With shaky knees, she stood up, ghosting to the corpse. Wiry hands collected the flesh and bones, tugging it closer to her.

She hummed a silent lullaby, it's song echoed throughout brick walls. Even when her arms slowly began to be hued in red, Veronica ignored that, and continued to sing. She ignored many things: the beady eyes of her neighbours, the cloudy skies, and her niece's silent heart. She heaved herself upwards, bringing the doll (corpse, niece) with her. And like the soldiers did, Veronica marched her way back to the small home; head held high, no shame, despite the public execution that happened just minutes before.

Living beneath the Soviet Union's codes and values was difficult as all possessions were stripped away from you. When things became worst, a majority of the rich left their motherland. Her brother however, who worked with the royal family, thought otherwise and stayed loyal till the end. It placed him in a pile of dead bodies waiting to be burned. As he fell, so did their economy and the country was forced to live in a strict regime. everything had been a downturn since then, Lenin stepped down and Stalin took over, forcing majority into labour camps. But she was smart and before anyone could knock on their door, Veronica managed to pack her things and drag her brother's daughter to a small town near the borders. Though still under the communist rule, it was less extreme than that of Moscow.

They didn't have much, no one did in the Soviet Union, but Veronica can still remember the times before this whole fiasco. Their house made of polished oak, during Christmas time, a row of periwinkle lights glowed in every room. Their mother bought perfumes from France while Father had the habit of buying nutcrackers for his collection. Filled with laughter and dance, their home was hearty and healthy. Then winter came and Father died of polio while mother drank herself to sleep. Veronica had caught on the message, she fled in hopes of escaping with minuscule values while her stubborn brother did not, only asking her to bring his daughter.

It had been a difficult terrain, one of deception and keeping heads down. In fact, everything had been fine until soldiers stormed their little cabin and dragged her niece into the street, usually tucked underneath her shirt only to be caught by a passing neighbour, her rose gold necklace displayed for all to see.

And bang went the gun.

Veronica gently laid her niece's head on the floorboards of their temporary home. Almost like a cherub asleep if not for the sanguine liquid matting her features. She uttered a small devout prayer, and with that, Veronica pulled out her pocket watch. Time a steady heartbeat, resounding through the room. She furrowed her brows, no matter how much she saw this it never got easier. So Veronica waited, any second now―

There was a great gasp.

Vera had awoken once more.

* * *

 _"Sometimes all it takes is one single breath, and the world will change."_

* * *

For as long as she can remember, Vera had always been eighteen.

Sometimes nineteen, and there were occasions where her father would discuss about a twentieth. But she has never physically changed from eighteen onwards. There was never a recollection of childhood or young adolescent years. Everything was always eighteen.

Father said she had taken a rather disturbing blow to the head when climbing a tree and thus resulting to amnesia. Vera loved her Father, Grandmother had always sneered and say that her mother was a prostitute. Vera remembered being angry, a swirl of orange and gold and the screams of her Grandmother. She disappeared the next day, and no one in the household spoke of the incident. Vera still had nightmares, during those times, she would cry and hug her Father, he'd sing an old lullaby, giving comfort and warmth.

However Vera wasn't ignorant, she watched her Father's hair turn grey and fingers wrinkling. She watched as the lights, blind to everyone else, twirled and danced, accompanied by silent whispers. It wasn't normal and Vera was afraid to question about it, she didn't need another incident like her Grandmother. And then one day, by the river, Vera saw a dead bird. She caressed it and blew a breath of gold, not a second longer, the bird began to chirp. It didn't stop there, not so long ago she had tried to dance with the the lights, shifting her arm and twisted. The world around her whirled into a spiral, particles moving and with a halt and a thought, everything else turned back to normal.

Vera didn't know why she could do these things and before she could get an explanation, things went to hell. After her Father's death, she was given to her Aunt, Veronica. An unexpected child, they'd say, Aunt Veronica was in her early thirties without a smudge out of place.

Life was different, and it continued to change. Especially on that day.

The first time Vera remembered her death it was during a family raid, a soldier pushed to the side and her head was sliced through one of Grandfather's antique. She woke up with her Aunt crying above her. They didn't ask any questions or even discussed the topic, only heading towards the border. The second time it happened, Vera was in an alleyway. She was waiting for her Aunt, only to have a thief grabbing her bag. She had fought, holding her heel and stabbing it in between eyes. Only to have a blade imbed itself into her jugular. Third was in a car, fourth by a river, fifth by falling, sixth by suicide and they started to lose count after that.

Each time the lights would tiptoe to what should be her corpse and breathed life into it once more, just like she had with the bird. When on the run with her Aunt, warmth was difficult to get, so Vera would think of hearth and fire and an embrace would make its way around them. Her Aunt had felt it to, but she said nothing because she could not see like Vera could. She could not feel like Vera can, she cannot here the colours, she cannot kiss the light.

As odd as it was, neither of them asked why or searched for reason. Strange cases were dangerous in the Soviet Union. Better safe than sorry. Though, she did ask Aunt Veronica once, all the older woman did was send curses to her long dead brother and play with that pocket watch. _Made a deal with the devil_ , she said, _just be grateful you're alive_. Curiosity still gnawed her, but Veronica was right, if anyone ever found out she would be in a basement being dissected. There were whispers of men searching for immortality, rumour has it, the Germans were building a superior race above everyone else. Veronica only chose to be ignorant because it was the safest thing to do, it wasn't that she was 'ignorant' per se, rather, extremely sly, she knew the right things to hear and the right things to say.

And right now, she said to cut her hair.

Vera grasped the scissors, uncaring as the blades grazed her neck, flesh instantly knitting back. She blinked, not recognising the person in the mirror. Settling the tool down, Vera bitterly wondered what her father would've thought of this. He had always loved her hair, she too had enjoyed the braids and complicated twists. It was a shame to see it go, and what came after, was an oversized sweater and rugged pants. Next to her was Veronica, age and weariness catching up. And instead of her pretty up-do and faded floral, she exchanged it for a bulkier dress and her hair was down, slightly fizzy due to the weather. Vera almost flinched when Veronica's thin fingers, once so agile, was gently placed on her shoulders.

"Vanya," Veronica whispered, "For now that is your name. Once we make it out, you shall be Vanya. As we get closer to France you will become Valerie. And then, and only, when we are in America shall you be Vera again."

(Wrongwrongwrong. Lying is wrong because—

"It is not in your nature to lie Vera").

"What about you? Who are you to me?"

"Anya, I am your older sister. Then I shall be Nikola, your distant cousin," she sighed, "America is the safest place right now."

"I know."

"You trust me?"

"I do," Vera admitted. Who else was there to trust?

"Good," she handed her a bag, "Pack little as you can brother. We leave soon."

That's right, to America, land of the free-their last hope.

Vera quickly grabbed her scarf and the matryoshka dolls, quickly putting them into one and placing them deep within her bag. Stepping outside the cottage, Vera made sure not to be caught by anyone, meeting Veronica at the outpost point.

She clutched her bag, "I'm ready."

Veronica dug under her own pack and revealed a gun and knives, "Here, hide them on your person."

The weapons were sleek and obviously taken care of. While Veronica used to always hunt with Grandfather and Father, on mighty horses through lush forests, it was extremely hard for civilians to get weapons these days. It was near impossible, and these guns didn't look Russian made. So definitely smuggled into the country.

Vera gave a glance but didn't say anything, unlike her older family members, she never did have an affinity with guns. Knives were fine, in a way, they didn't tend to blow in your faces. She internally chuckled, imagining the look on the old neighborhood boys' faces if they ever found out porcelain Vera holding weapons. If her father ever found out, not that he would since he's six feet under, he'd behead Vera. But war changes things, and with that came circumstances and consequences that Vera has to adapt to, whether she liked it or not.

With one last look at the village, they hiked far away, and Vera couldn't help but think, 'I miss home.'

* * *

 _1930_

Vera was the daughter of a noble, she was used to a nice home with pretty dresses and delicious food. Eating her stale bread, Vera huddled closer to her clothing.

They had arrived in Germany, it had taken them months, and after arriving, they managed to find an abandoned room and scavenged for food. Following its defeat, Germany became much more different than the stories Vera has heard from her Grandfather. The government is falling since the Kaiser has fled, and political parties were tense. It was dangerous to stay outside, and food was incredibly scarce. No resources or supplies were getting into the country. And though whispers that the war was over, Veronica said that they needed to get out of the country as soon as possible. Vera agreed, the desperation that polluted this city was suffocating and reminded her too much of the many places in Russia. They did however, need to rest and at least stay to thieve off supplies as quickly as they could.

The room they had occupied was nothing really, no proper fireplace, and though Vera was fine, she could see Veronica in the corner. Everything was bare and there were many spider webbed cracks, only small pieces of cement holding everything together. It was afternoon, and snow fell, Veronica was wasting away and all Vera could do was place a thin layer of light and hope they could protect her. She ate a quarter of the bread and snuck the rest onto Veronica's plate. Their guns were never used compared to their knives, and was carefully tucked away into easily accessible places. Thankfully, they had chosen a secluded part of town, mostly abandoned due to the instability. Nowadays, many hoarded themselves together, and these parts were only inhabited by ghosts. Of hollow buildings and stained glass, with critters crawling about, and a paper light sheet of white on top of it, making every creak only colder.

"Nicola I will scavenge for more things alright?" Vera whispered to her Aunt, who forced her lids to open.

"Don't wander too far and stay in the shadows," she shivered lightly, pulling the blankets, "sister."

Vera smiled, despite her hair growing around her shoulders, if she hid it, she could be passed off as a male from a far distance. She made sure to wrap her breasts because it was better to be mistaken as a boy than a girl when it's near night time. Standing up, she headed towards the door, "Take care."

"Always."

Walking through the streets of Germany, as Veronica advised, was much better to be near the shadows. Sneaking into the richer parts of town, Vera dug into the bins and by the next few hours, managed to get scraps of food and clothing, what people threw away was astounding. And made Vera wonder about the things she had thrown out as a child. Shaking her head she huffed and blinked when a sudden impact of colours bombarded her. Staggering a step back she looked up at the sky and found it odd how fast time had passed. Furrowing her brows she massaged her temples, trying to dismiss the feel of nausea.

(Little did Vera know that—)

As she gathered her things, Vera was slightly surprised to see a crouched figure to her right. And out of instincts, Vera braced her muscles as the body leaped forwards onto her. She had always been a good fighter, on an instinctual level, though sloppy in her form, Vera managed to defend herself. And she certainly managed as the person raked backwards, but was intercepted with a long swipe of her leg. The action made her drop all belongings, and quickly, she snatched her attacker from the collar and shoved them on the wall to see-

"Please don't hurt me!"

(Scorching fire and red skin to match it's fury. Skin and bones were defined underneath a shadow of darkness. It was rage, she saw deep molten rage in those—)

-frightened eyes?

Thankfully, Grandmother made sure that Vera knew the major European languages, as well as English. And though her German wasn't as good as her Russian, it was passable, and only had a slight lift on certain words. In any other situations, she would have perhaps put the child down, but this was time of war and the brutality of it has already affected Vera. It was a tragic thing, and she hoped the the fire in this child's eyes would always blaze as it did now, despite his shaking voice and paling face.

She cocked her head, tests her German, "Children like you get punished for what you have done."

"Well women like you are supposed to stay home."

Vera narrowed her eyes and lifted him higher, "Say that again."

"Stop it, you're hurting me!"

"People get hurt during war," she gritted out and settled him down, flicking him a piece of food, "Now leave."

He blinked, "Why are you giving me this?"

"Then I'll take it back."

"No!" he blurted, hugging it, "Thank you."

And that was the day, Vera met little Johann, whose stygian hair matched his coal dark eyes burning with a flaming passion. Not one of intimacy or human comfort, but rather, of rage and a burden. He was incredibly small and Vera cannot remember an age where she had been that short, it made him look fragile, but the stiff shoulders and straight backbone said otherwise. He reminded Vera of a being that could not be cut down, and some part of her was endeared by that fact. Because, somewhere, deep inside of her, Vera wished she too could have that burning flame, it yearned for it. But there was another, that pulled her away and made her what she was today, a solid mountain.

No longer was she a child and as time passed, little Vera, who was taller than many men her age, has to grow up.

In the end, Vera who was far too tall for her age and Johann who has will in him, began talking. He didn't trust her and she gave him no reason to. It started with awkward silence and small whispers, then he asked her a question that reminded Vera far too much of the past.

He sniffed his nose, "What's a princess like you doing here?"

"Shouldn't I be asking the same?" he was awfully well put together for a street boy, that is, to compare with Vera rags and barely maintained clothes that Grandmother would be so ashamed of. The colours around him were negative and dark, only streaks of beauty in them, seeping through the cracks. It was such a sad thing to see.

"Night eats up boys like you."

"Like me?" there was disbelief in his voice, "What about you princess?"

"Valerie," she clarified, "My name is Valerie."

"Valkyrie?" Johann had an intrigued expression, "I have heard of them. Beautiful women with mighty blades who carry back the dead souls of warriors to Valhalla."

"Sorry for disappointing you, but it's Valerie, though I'm very flattered. But what is this Valkyrie you speak of?" she asked, her formal accent now laying on thick.

Johann raised his brows, before explaining of magnificent beings; of winged helmets and iron swords grasped in their hands. Riding chariots and horses, gliding down the battlefield and leading souls to the after life. It would be a lie to say that Vera wasn't impressed. From how Johann described the Valkyrie, tall and blonde, unlike any other woman, she wasn't surprised to see a resemblance in physical appearance. Though she was far from valiant or chivalrous.

He was overall an interesting child, certainly grazed from the depression. In the end, she managed to get some information from him. That he was an orphan, hated his foster family and everything imperfect. Johann certainly had a passion for mythology. From the books hidden underneath the abandoned mansion, he had said. They managed to have a half decent conversation, a phantom of what would be if there was no war. Vera told him of little things, such as her favourite colour and that she loved reading fairy tales, especially the morbid ones written by the Grimm brothers. Though she, "Prefer ones with happy endings."

Johann had laughed and said, "There are no such things as happy endings."

"It's all about perspective boy."

"You're a fool."

"Better a fool than a foolish wit."

"Dreamers like you get killed."

She huffed a laugh, "Than I'll die freely."

Not that Vera has found a way of dying.

(Yet.)

But as of now, by the end of the day, though it was a faux representation of what should be, Vera thinks that she has made a friend.

It was nice.

With a goodbye, Vera waved at little Johann and turned around the corner only to be bombarded with another sudden bombardment of colours. Vera looked up at the sky and frowned. Well that was odd.

* * *

Little did Vera know that the year she met Johann Schmidt was 1912.

* * *

Vera came to like Germany.

Aside from the depression, the fact that people stole from you and the amount of colours that invaded her vision, it wasn't as bad as she imagined it. That, or she just really like running about.

Veronica was looking better, still ill, but she didn't have the sick parlour pasted onto her skin. Vera still insisted for her to stay back and rest. During those durations, she would scavenge for food and even managed to get a job at the small Jewish cafe down the street. It didn't pay much but is was essential to keep Veronica up her feet.

Vera stayed with Johann if not taking care of Veronica. The little boy was rubbing off on her. He was far from sweet, but compared to the half dead eyes on everyone, Johann was alive.

They ran down the pavements, went into abandoned houses and jumped over fences.

Of course all good things must come to an end.

And by the end of the year Vera died.

Except she didn't.

All was rather complicated.

It all happened like a winter's tale.

* * *

Johann likes Valerie.

She was nicer than the matrons at the orphanage, much prettier too. The blonde woman was the perfect German with her matching blue eyes. At first, he had thought of her as some lanky man grubbing trash. But through the span of time they managed to, dare he say it, become friends.

Johann didn't have friends, nor family. The people he lived with were nothing more than useless pedestrians. His house was cold and filled with other children his age, the corners dark and the roof like ill fitted jigsaws. And though the back alleys of Germany was wretched with dirt and trash, it was filled with warmth whenever Valerie was there. Scavenging food was not as difficult as it sounds, and the bread may be stale, the meat tough, but with Valerie at his side it wasn't so bad. Awkward at first, Valerie was many ages older than him and she was incredibly tall that it reminded Johann a lot of the men who walked down the streets. Except her hands were not clipped with ice and her lips weren't sewn into a line. Valerie smiled and her fingers caressed in a way that made Johann think of flower petals.

They learned many things about each other. Johann told her his interest in reading and sports, competitive sports. She had laughed and told him she prefers going on adventures and was terrible at playing sports. He described that one time he managed to snuck a piece of chocolate, very rare, and it had tasted like heaven on his tongue. Valerie told him of Indian spices, which sounded like something from a completely different world. It was hot and exploded inside the mouth with a myriad of colours. Johann was poor and he knew that only rich people has been to India. And while it's very clear that Valerie is not dressed like princess, she must have a blood of a royal, that is for sure.

When Valerie found a job at the bakery, or so she said since Johann knew that the nearest bakery was in central, she spent less time with him but was greeted with more food. She also showed a picture of her sister, Nicola. Both were slender and blonde, except Nicola was a few years older than Valerie and a few inches shorter. She was unlike Valerie, softer yet strong enough that it reminded Johann of the scary librarian. Valerie soon became family of sorts, something he had never experienced before. He found comfort and happiness in her, she was far more precious than any diamond. Just for a moment in time, Johann thought that something good has finally fell from the sky for him. No not good, great. Because good things were given to mundane people. Great things are given to those who deserve it. But the good became jealous and stole it away. It happened during winter, always winter.

The Great War was taking a toll on the country. The Kaiser said they were winning yet resources became scarce since everything was given to the army and soon people grew desperate. It worsened during winter. Everyone was cold, food was limited yet needed. Theft was not rare and many turned a blind eye at murder. It happened so quickly, no one had expected it. Unlike the orphanage, the street he and Valerie always went to was filled with thugs. They had been by the park, or what's left of it, about to head home when the man came out of nowhere. The knife was held tightly as the man brutally slashed Valerie, the loaf of bread falling onto the cold pavement. An ugly scream etched itself in his mind. Johann had tried to save her, he did, but it all happened too fast and everything became dark.

He woke up in the hospital, surrounded by untouched walls and clean beds. It was another world from that of outside. Sitting by his side was the matron, stress weighing her down and eyes surrounded by shadows.

"Johann."

"Matron."

Short and curt.

The Matron heavily sighed, "You were found at the park. Your friend—"

Valerie! "How is she?"

Johann didn't like the way she shook her head, "oh child."

And then she explained. How the found him by the park with two others. One, was stabbed right in between the eye. While the other was brutally slashed, dead by blood loss. A man with no name and the kind blonde lady, the Matron had whispered. They brought her to the undertaker but the body had disappeared not long after. When the story was told, Johann couldn't help but listen in disbelief, a body can't just disappear. It sounded like a hushed runout one wild tell the scare another. It didn't sound real. Valerie was strong, she was a force to be reckoned with. She was supposed to be unstoppable.

(Not a tear left his eye.)

She became a Valkyrie.

(Deep inside he screamed, raw and unrestrained. An animal has been unleashed.)

The sky was red that evening.

* * *

Vera fiddled with her newly henna dyed hair.

It had been a gift, from the old Jewish couple down the street. Vera always liked the woman's patterned hands and sunset hair. Vera always imagined herself wearing it, but now it was more out of convenience. She knew grandmother was rolling in her grave if she ever saw her like this. Gone were the golden locks, now replaced with hues of red.

"You look great, the colour suits you."

Vera raised an eyebrow, "I've always preferred blue."

"Of course you do."

She sighed, "We could've brought Johann."

"There was never a Johann, stop with your delusions."

"There was a Johann and he was my friend."

.

.

.

 _The guilt still scarred her heart._

* * *

 **AN: Hope you liked it.**

 **Note: Johann is the Red Skull, nemesis of Captain America.**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel

* * *

SWIRLS OF GOLD AND SHARDS OF GLASS

* * *

 _1933_

"May I help you?"

Fifteen-year-old Steve Rogers blushed as he stammered, trying to get words out of his mouth. Palms sweaty, he tightly held onto the parcel his mother gave him. Steve wasn't quite sure what was inside, but when his Ma' told him to go to Upper East Side, he was genuinely surprised. Steve had rode his bike all the way to the fancy looking buildings. The flat that greeted him was large and perfectly painted. Potted plants were by the window and easily costed more than Steve's entire apartment. It made him feel queasy as he thought of the many nights near starvation and how hard his Ma' had to work to keep him alive. And here this building was, in fine perfection. Here Steve mentally berated himself; getting angry at a building. Wonderful.

He had knocked on the dark door, it's echo nearly silent amongst the pedestrians. It took a while and as the door opened, an odd smell hit him. Of foreign flowers and cigarettes and alcohol. The woman in front of him wore a purple robe, it's front in a low scoop, showing enough of her chest. Thus his current predicament, Steve immediately looked down onto the gravel, blushing furiously. He swallowed harshly, and blinked at the feel of lithe fingers beneath his chin. He looked up to see uncombed blonde hair and eyes that weren't quite right under the light. The woman was beautiful, not in the normal curvy dame way. Rather, she looked strong, like an Amazonian.

The only down side were the unlit cigarette, smeared lipstick and heavy bags. Steve was instantly reminded of the women at the darker parts of town. It was quickly dismissed by a soft smile and a kind gaze, "You're Sarah's boy."

There was a feint accent he couldn't place, followed by a husk. Steve nodded, "Yeah, uh—Steve. My name I mean, Steve. My Ma' told me to give this to you?"

He held out the parcel though the woman made no move and continued to stare at him. "Well Steve, I'm Vera. You look cold boy I'll make you some tea. Or is it coffee you like? The stereotypical American."

"Just water is fine ma'am."

The woman turned around, the robe twirled with her. She walked back into the room, only to pause and look back at Steve, "Don't just stand there boy. And don't call me ma'am. Reminds me too much of 'Madam'," she barked out a bitter laugh.

The interior of the house was interesting, the expensive furniture nothing like he had seen before. It was the perfect advertisement if not for the clothes a strayed and broken pieces of glass. Steve sat down and found himself staring at the unfinished oil painting of a woman. She wore a heavy dress accompanied by jewels. The edges of the canvas had lilies on it. Though the entirety of it was wrong; tone a bit too dark and edges too harsh. There was a palette knife imbedded in the centre, accompanied by streaks of colour. Empty bottles laid around it, Steve frowned, she had been mourning.

"Wonderful isn't she?"

Vera came out from the kitchen and placed the glass of water in front of Steve. She leaned back into the couch, "My sister, it's her anniversary today."

"I," Steve inhaled, "I'm sorry for your lost."

Vera massaged her temples, "Yeah, she-she was great. Left me with things I don't even want."

She picked up the parcel and unwrapped it, "Tell your mother I said thank you."

It was a piece of embroidery, delicate and made of silk, with birds and flowers stitched to it. Vera refrained a gasp and caressed it, "She loved luxury. This is, this is truly something precious. Thank you, tell your mother I said thank you."

She gently placed it on her lap and from her pocket and pulled out an envelope, "Here."

Steve gaped at the amount of money inside, there was at least a grand or more! Vera disregarded his expression and handed him the money, "Close your mouth or else flies will get in."

"I can't—I can't take this!"

"It's not for you, it for your mother, this," she handed him another bill, "is yours."

"I can't, we can't take this! It's too much!"

"No it's not," she said, "Your mother fixed something very precious to me. It's worth more than all the money in the world."

He was slightly taken aback from how sincere she looked; determined, sad, genuine. He looked down at the money and folded it. Satisfied, she grinned, "Go buy yourself something."

"Right," he nodded, "I'll tell Ma' you said thank you."

They walked towards the front and she leaned against the doorway, she chuckled, "Until next time."

"'Till next time," Steve smiled shyly.

Steve walked away, and didn't look back.

They'll meet again, next time.

* * *

The next time Steve sees her, will be shrouded with death.

* * *

 _1932_

It was cold, but nothing compared to a Russian winter.

Britain was strange, her surroundings felt foreign and instead of thick layers of snow, it was a downpour of rain.

Vera shifted the scarf and held tightly onto the paper bag. Though Britain wasn't anything compared to Germany in terms of economic crises, the depression still managed to hit them. She quietly slid into Alice's Inn, the place they had been staying at ever since their arrival. A little bigger than majority of the buildings in the East End. The ones who owned it was a kind elderly couple and their granddaughter, who's parents died during the war. The architecture was different from that of mainland Europe, simpler yet elegant all the same. By the time they reached France, they had to get money by less astounding means. It wasn't difficult, Vera blended in with those of the West End, and with a flick of her fingers she transported the valuables. And if that didn't help, a little aid from the golden swirls would never hurt.

"Morning!"

Veronica was sat by the windowsill. She had aged considerably after they left Russia. Still beautiful but you could see the lines that had faintly formed. Her hair had been cut short, something that she would have never done. Veronica valued her hair above almost everything else. The incident happened when they were crossing France. A group of thugs caught on to them, and as if on automatic response, Veronica had chopped off her hair which had been held by grubby hands. It was a shock, Vera was still at that moment, having to process it all. Veronica didn't wait any longer as she shot the thugs pint black. Vera would be lying if she didn't think that Veronica wasn't a baddass. Because that woman can fight, they both had to learn to survive.

It was almost sad to see golden locks barely licking the nape of her neck. Vera had become accustomed to curling Veronica's hair and putting tiny ornaments. Now all that was left was a plated hair clip with delicate gems. They shined underneath the light as she sat underneath the window. Looking up at her embroidery, Veronica gave an exasperated look, "You're chipper."

She grinned and dropped the paper bag onto the table, "You said 'chipper'."

The older woman blinked and frowned, "I said 'chipper'."

"Embracing the British love?" Vera teased, slipping on the apron.

Veronica sighed and placed the silk beside her, "As soon as I leave it."

Unlike her, Vera didn't mind Britain. Some looked strangely at her due to the thick accent, but nothing a friendly smile couldn't fix. It was a little bit dreary, and there were a lot of people walking down one street, not to mention the loud sound of talking. Even so, everything just felt alive, it bustled and thumped with the rhythm of everyday life. When they first arrived it was a bit of a culture shock, all spoke English instead of French or German. Manners were slightly different and there was a variety of people who inhabited these parts of town; refugees, veterans, prostitutes, bandits.

Vera loved them, the outcasts. She felt right at home because she too saw herself as one. Veronica on the other hand, was still tense. It was a contrast to the high society they were raised in. Before, Veronica used to give fake smiles and a faux haughty attitude. During their travels it was a sharp woman, ready to protect and survive. Now, she was reckoned, tiered, and kept mostly to herself. Vera loved Veronica, they were family. She had always wondered if Veronica hated her at first. Her Father passed away, along with her grandparents, leaving all inheritance to Veronica. A young woman who now had to take care of a child. A young woman who wasn't afraid to run and fight for that child, even if it meant leaving home.

As years passed, Vera felt a sense of security from Veronica. They became closer, like sisters instead of Aunt and Niece. Vera almost saw her like a mother, a nurturer, a safe haven. She smiled and placed a gentle kiss on Veronica's cheeks. In all honesty, Vera didn't care if they don't reach America. As long as she has Veronica, then she was already home.

"How was the market?"

"Good, I brought some bread and fruit and slices of meat. Prepare for a gourmet meal sister."

She cut the bread and placed the meat in between them. Washing the fruit, she made them into small slices. "Tadaa! I present to you: ham sandwich and fruit!"

"I applaud you fine chef."

"Why thank you, my lady."

She took a seat in front of Veronica, "So, how was your day? Embroidery going well?"

"It's fine, the ship leaves in tomorrow morning."

"America," Vera whispered, "Land of the free and second chances. Where will we go once we've arrived?"

"Manhattan, my childhood friend who had left Russia earlier on takes care of a house your grandfather bought in his last visit. It's where he keeps his most valuable things, far away from communist hands. A smart man he was."

"Friend?"

"His name is Illya."

"Illya," like a cat with a canary Vera grinned, "You sly fox. If I remember correctly there used to be a butler you were rather close to named Illya."

"Hush you silly child, and eat your food."

"Whatever you say."

 _Knock. Knock._

Vera sat up and eyed the door, "We're we expecting someone?"

"No," Veronica grabbed her knife and gun, hiding it underneath her skirt.

Warily standing up, Vera strode towards the door. The swirls and light humming near her skin, she unlocked it and—

"Hello dear," Vera momentarily relaxed at the sight of the elderly innkeeper, "My, are you alright? You look sick?"

"No it's nothing ma'am. How may I help you?"

"Oh well, there's a lovely young woman who says she's your cousin."

Vera made eye contact with Veronica and furrowed her brows, "Cousin?"

Before anyone could say anything else, the innkeeper was pushed backwards and her head colliding against the wall, knocking her out cold. Vera gasped as she felt the air flee from her as a swift kick sent her to the opposite side of the room. She winced, feeling the light trying to push her onto her feet. Gritting her teeth, Vera stared at a dark gaze. It was heavily shadowed underneath a thick hood. Pale skin, red hair, she looked human but everything felt wrong. There was more swirls of gold on her than any other she had encountered. Vera nearly staggered backwards when the skin rippled into blue, purple and traces of metal only to return to the peachy complexion. The person tilted her head in confusion before marching towards her.

"May Father," came a hollow voice as spat that word, "Has been keeping an eye on you. It seems that you have left your cocoon far too early. He will disappointed—"

 _Bang. Bang._

Vera swerved her head to stare at Veronica who held the gun. Without a second thought, she made a twisting motion swallowing, as if not wanting to hurt the blue being and instead chose to throw her to the side. She grabbed Veronica's hand and the two bags which held everything they had "Come on!"

As they went downstairs, people went up, wandering what had happened. They turned towards an alley way, letting their backs hit the bricks.

"What," Veronica gasped, "What was that?"

Vera shook her head, "I don't know—not human."

"What?" She heard the disbelief coating the question.

Licking her lips she tried to explain, "Not human. The body, her skin, didn't you see it turn blue?"

"No, are you-are you serious?"

Vera nodded, "You won't believe me. But I, I see things, hear things that others can't. They're like colors, lights, always swirling and present. They're everywhere, on people, not a lot but still there. That woman, she had the most I've ever seen. I'm not making any sense am I? Oh god, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I just thought you'd think I want crazy!"

"I believe you."

"And I'm sorry, I was scared and didn't know what to do."

"I believe you."

"You always said to keep your head down and listen and I panicked and well, it was selfish."

"Vera!" She exclaimed, catching her attention, "I believe you."

"You," she gaped, "You do?"

There was reluctance that could be seen in Veronica. She sighed, "We didn't tell you the truth because we were afraid."

"Afraid? Of what?"

"What's out there-" whatever Veronica was about to say next she didn't complete it. Steel claws ripped through Veronica's chest. Vera gasped, holding her mouth to trap in the scream. They slowly pulled themselves out, and she saw the woman again. Vera pulled her Aunt into an embrace, scared, cornered, confused. Wide eyed, she allowed the swirls and light to form a wall between them. It was thicker and sturdier than she had ever made before. She shivered when she heard Veronica's shallow breaths and the clang of steel against pavement.

"What do you want with me?" She whispered, "Leave us alone. Please!"

"I do not want you. It is my Father," the woman kneeled in front of her, "You are Her, feared amongst many, brought down by a human. Pathetic."

"Of course I'm a 'her', I'm female!" Somehow the statement sounded incredibly stupid, and Vera immediately flushed.

"He was right, you are at your most vulnerable. Out of your cocoon too soon?" She mocked.

"Please," Vera felt tears escaping when Veronica whimpered, "Please just leave us alone. Please just make it stop."

The woman then instantly stood up, and Vera swear she could hear the sound of gears shifting. She snapped her head towards Vera with a perplexed expression, "You..."

Metal claws papered, with a high arc, the woman aimed at the shield and at that moment Vera screamed. The swirls around her moved like a storm, forming rings around the woman. There was energy humming beneath her skin, waiting to be used. A part of Vera, wanted her to be killed, to extract revenge. It shouted and wailed that redemption needed to be done, that chaos should happen. The world stood still, yet Vera felt wind slicing the desolate alley.

"Vera," Veronica croaked, "Don't-don't—"

She remained deaf, and instead Vera held her hand forward. And as if holding a key she twisted. Like a black hole consuming itself, the woman vanished.

"Oh Vera, oh Vera, what have you done."

She blinked, trying to get away from the haziness, "What? I—Veronica?"

The older woman pulled herself up and hissed at her wounds, "You poor girl," she cried, "You poor girl. You're finally remembering."

And then her Aunt began to crack, it like watching porcelain going down her skin.

"What's happening to you? Why-why is this happening?" She held onto Veronica, careful and scared that she would break.

"You're slowly becoming Her, oh Vera, I wish it had been different."

Vera hated the sound, of glass, she hated seeing the way Veronica's fingertips crumble into dust.

"Veronica? What's happening to you?" She hysterically shouted, "Is it because of me? Did I do this somehow? I didn't mean to, please, please don't go. I'll do anything!"

"Do not. Do not defy death Vera," she gave a breathy laugh, "Do not."

"Well I can't just watch you fade away! I have to do something!" Vera screamed.

"I'm not even supposed to be here. Vera, I was in the palace with your Father and Grandfather that night, so were you. We were having dinner, you had been singing and dancing with Anastasia. We were-we were taken downstairs when they shot us," Veronica reached up to touch Vera's cheek, "You held my hand."

Veronica exhaled shakily, closing her eyes, "I died that night. This body, it's only temporary. I'm not supposed to be here and you know it. Let go."

"I-I can't!"

"You can, you just don't want to," Veronica grinned, "1908."

"W-what?"

"The winter of 1908," Veronica whispered, "Now let me go. You can't hold onto me forever."

"But I need you!" she sobbed.

"Veruschka," she recoiled at her full name. Veronica tapped her forehead with a lithe index finger, "You have never needed me. You are a strong, independent woman. I love you and now, you have to let me go."

She did.

"Until next time."

And Veronica shattered.

"Hey ma'am, are you alright?"

Vera jolted, brown concerned eyes stared her. The girl frowned, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Leave her alone Peggy!"

"Yeah she's probably a looney!"

The girl ignored them and blended down, "I can get help if you want, an adult or-"

"What season is it?" Vera rasped, looking at the red sky.

"Pardon?"

"Season," she paused, "what season is it?"

"Winter."

"Then why is the sky on fire?"

* * *

Nebula groaned.

"Report."

Against the will of her body, Nebula pulled herself into a kneel. The cybernetics beneath her skin whirled and screeched. Her Father sat upon his throne while her sister kneeled beside her. Perfect Gamora and her perfect hair and perfect eyes. Father's favourite child who can seem to do no wrong.

"Mission accomplished," Gamora said in a low tone.

"Nebula."

"I," she bit her lip, "I had failed."

"I knew you should have failed," he drawled. And Nebula tried to ignore the sympathy coming from Gamora. She looked straight ahead, heart founding and lips dry. Thanos stood up from his chair and stepped down in front of her, "How was She?"

"Vulnerable. The cocoon opened prematurely, She has no knowledge of who she truly is. I will not make the same mistake—"

"No."

Thanos grinned, wide and carnal, "We wait."

How she hated him.

* * *

 _1933_

Illya Braginski was a tall man, almost imposing if it weren't for the kindness etched on his face. Vera hadn't remembered much of him, he had been close to Veronica and made great dessert. Her Grandfather, or whoever he was, had him go to America to take care of the house there. When she first arrived, it had been difficult to track him down. Vera spoke adequate English, but her reading and writing skills weren't as fluent. The address that Veronica left was off, with these avenues, but she managed. As she knocked on the door, it was Illya who opened it. And Vera stared back; tiered, gaunt, lost.

He took her in and nurtured her. Illya made her an identity that couldn't be tracked down, he helped her with English and American mannerisms. Soon, she began to fit in. Her family was left with a large inheritance, one that would last many lifetimes. Vera didn't know what to do with it, so she left it. No donation, no careless spending, she simply left it. And she'll continue to leave it till the day she felt remorse. Because after the death of Veronica, all she became was hollow and empty. And then Illya picked her up, things got better. She began to trust Illya, and before anything else moved forward she decided to tell him, about her powers. It turns out that he already knew. Vera became angry, smashed a lot of fifteenth century vases. It took a while, but things became better.

Then she opened a lounge.

Nikita.

There, she met Sarah Rogers.

Nikita was located in Hell's Kitchen. Perhaps it was the grittier side of town, the outside nondescript. Only a small sign to indicate it was a lounge. The inside was large, with stairs leading to underground. Vera made sure to make it look expensive, something that Veronica would be very proud of. Despite that, she gained many customers; from the rich to the Mafia to the awkward boy down the street. Nikita opened during the ban of alcohol. Vera had to use her abilities to shield it away from unwanted eyes. She hired those who lived on the streets and made sure they could fight if a brawl ever happened. The alcohol itself was smuggled and exchanged. It was a longer for the loved and bastards and outsiders of society. It was a place where anyone could feel safe, a haven.

Just like she had felt with Veronica. Vera made sure to keep her eyes and ears open. So when Sarah Rogers walked inside, Vera knew; that the woman was desperate. The depression could do that to you.

"Hello there honey, you're a bit lost aren't you."

Bright baby blues stared up at her, "I'm fine where I am."

"Don't lie," Vera tapped the wood of the bar, "It's not in your nature to do so."

"So," she leaned into the palm of her hand and took a drag of her cigarette, "You want to find a man with good money?"

Sarah froze, Vera grinned, "I've met a lot of people. I can see a struggling widow when I see one. No rest for the wicked am I right? Sam make us my usual."

Sam, her bartender, nodded, "Sure thing Angel!"

"Now," she directed her attention to Sarah, "you an I? We're going to have a nice long drink. After that? I can direct you with some nice gentlemen with a nice amount of cash. That is, that's what you really want."

Two slender glasses of golden liquid was gently set on the table, "Enjoy."

"Thank you Sam," she handed one glass to Sarah, "It's on the house. It's called Berenice, my absolute favorite."

Sarah took a tentative sip, eyes widening, "This is-it's really good!"

Sam grinned, "It was Angel who taught me."

"Which," she paused him, "You will take to your grave."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Sure thing babe."

"Now get back to work."

"Ma'am yes ma'am."

Vera snorted, "That boy."

"Is he," Sarah began quietly, "legal to work here?"

"Is it legal to shoot others? People still do so during war. Is it legal to exchange sex for money?" Here Sarah flinched, "His parents passed away, he has three younger siblings to look after. I think he's old enough Mrs. Rogers."

"How do you know my name?" She bit out.

Vera held out a card, "You dropped your ID sweetheart."

Sarah rubbed her face, "I can't do this. But I have to. My shifts, they aren't paying me 'nough. And I have ta' take care of Steve."

She stared at her fingers, "Tell me, do you do embroidery?"

"What?"

"Embroidery. Can you? On silk, the image is of birds and flowers. I'll pay you as much as you want."

"Want?"

"What, want, how, where," Vera exhaled, "Can you or can you not honey?"

"I can, but why-"

"Great! I'll be right back. Sam make sure she doesn't go anywhere."

"Sure thing!"

Vera ran towards her office, and on the way she accidentally bumped into someone, "Woah there, careful Vera."

"Al!" She kissed the man on both his cheek.

"What's the rush?" Asked Al Capone.

"Need to grab something, don't start the poker game without me."

"When do I ever?"

Vera waved him off and laughed, she went to her office and grabbed the handkerchief. She waved at Sarah and slid into the chair, "Hello honey. This, is what I want you to continue."

It was Veronica's handkerchief, the one she never got to finish.

"When you're done, send it to this address," she kissed the woman's cheekbone, "Until next time."

* * *

"You gave my boy two thousand dollars."

Illya came in, looking slightly ragged, "I apologise Mistress. Miss Rogers insisted to come inside as soon as–"

"Ya' gave my son two grand!"

Vera swallowed the alcohol and looked up from her book. Sarah Rogers stood above her, hands on her hips. Displaying all the dominant Alpha female characteristics. She still wore her nurse uniform, hair slightly falling from the tight bun. A displeased expression crossed her face. Vera deadpanned, "No, I gave that to you."

"We don't need this much! So please," the envelope was thrown down, "Take it back."

Vera stared at it, and grabbed the whole alcohol bottle and took a heavy gulp. She squeezed her eyelids shut, opened them once, twice, and said, "Nope."

"What?"

"I said no," Vera closed her book and sat up. She rolled her shoulders back and tilted her chin up, "If you give me that, I'll send you more." She halted with her words, "Well, Illya will send you more, isn't that right Illya?"

"Mistress please stop dragging me into your mess," the butler sighed, shaking his head.

Vera ignored him and chose to lock her attention to the handkerchief upon her lap. With hesitance, she delicately touched the soft edges. As if afraid it would fall into seams. She gave a reminiscing smile, "You completed something very important to me Sarah. And I won't let that slide. You did something for me, with careful hands even when you didn't know me. So I pay back with gratitude."

"You gave me two grand," she repeated, softer this time.

"There's nothing grand about the number two," she joked, "if something is truly precious to you. Then it can never be valued," Vera shrugged, "Plus you're a nice person."

"That's it?" Sarah exclaimed in disbelief, "You can't be serious!"

Vera frowned and threw her glass, only for it to roll onto the carpet. Annoyed she took the bottle and tossed it to the wall with more effort, making it break into tiny shards. She used the swirls of gold to protect the other two in the room. Vera looked up the ceiling, "I am. Please don't question whether I'm serious or not. Again."

"Are you done with your tantrum?" Sarah asked. But she didn't reply, musing her thoughts to the broken painting that rested in the corner of the room.

Nobody said anything, only the sound of the fan. Sarah exhaled, "You know when my husband passed away. I drank tea instead of alcohol 'cause I couldn't afford it. The tea, can never bring him back but it kept my mind at ease. Perhaps you should exchange the alcohol to tea from time to time."

"Steve tell you?"

"That boy can't lie."

The flashing images of gold and blue invading her senses. Her mind wandered to the people in her life with the same coloring; Veronica, her family, Illya, Sarah. But her heart whispered something else, and promised her something beautiful. Vera licked her lips, "It's good, that the boy can't lie. Pure heart."

She grabbed the forgotten book and carefully held it in her hands, "he's going to change this world, that boy of yours Sarah."

Vera looked at the blue sky outside, "For the better."

.

.

.

.

.

 _The world is shifting, she can feel it._

* * *

 **AN: So yep, I introduced Thanos and his daughters (ugh, that sounded wrong) from Guardians of the Galaxy.**


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